


Patterns in Nature

by Kasuchi



Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen, Gen Fic, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-23
Updated: 2010-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:39:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasuchi/pseuds/Kasuchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I've been a guest in this house ever since I was eight years old."</i> Scenes from the life of Tony DiNozzo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patterns in Nature

**Author's Note:**

> For Lauren, ♥. Pre-series, spoilers for "Flesh and Blood."

**0.**

When Antony R. DiNozzo learned that his wife was pregnant with a boy, he beamed and declared that his boy - _his boy_ \- was going to be the shining star of the DiNozzo family.

When complications from the pregnancy made it clear that this was going to be his only child, he grew quiet and withdrawn for a time. Those around him worried - Antony R. DiNozzo was _not_ known for his quietness.

It was such that, when his son was born, Antony R. DiNozzo named him after himself, and so put the full weight of family expectations upon the shoulders of a newborn.

**1.**

Tony's first birthday party was a gala to rival the other parties of the season. The DiNozzo family invited everyone in the Hamptons to the party, and even a few Kennedy's managed to make it. Guest after guest cooed at how big little Tony had gotten, how big his eyes were. More than a few teased that their boy was going to be a ladykiller when he got older. At this, the older Anthony puffed up with pride, and his wife laughed.

Tony fell asleep as they made their way around the room, and the cooing turned to gasps of glee at how adorable the sleeping Tony was. When everyone who was anyone had met Tony, they handed him off to a nanny and continued with the festivities without him, passing out slices of a white cake with frosting that read, "Happy First Birthday, Tony!"

**1.**

On Tony's _actual_ first birthday, he sat in his crib shaking a rattle while, just outside his nursery, his mother and father argued in hushed tones. At his distance, all he would hear was the low rumble of his father's voice and the languid, long vowels of his mother's British accent, consonants falling away as her ire grew. From their shadows he could see that both of them were gesturing sharply, the shadows of hands darting to punctuate certain points.

At one particularly heated crescendo, he shook his rattle furiously, more amused by the _shhhhh_ noise it made than the sound of an open hand slapping skin.

**2.**

By two, Tony had started to say words. His vocabularly grew quickly, and he was starting to identify things by what they were.

"Nan" was the nanny, not "mama" as he had initially thought.

"Tony" was himself. As was "Boo-Boo," given his propensity for hurting himself.

"Ba-ba" was his sippy cup.

"Kitty" was his teddy bear. (No one could fathom why.)

"Wally" was the family dog. (Its name was really Warren, but Wally was pretty quickly catching on.)

"Ree!" meant he wanted to be read to.

"Bah!" meant he wanted his toy ball.

Tony could even feed himself, given half an opportunity. Nanny would have to wipe him down (and the counter, and the floor) after each meal, but he smiled so widely each time the plate was emptied that she couldn't resist. His favorite food was grapes cut in half. He would give you one if you held your hand out with the palm up, chubby arms and tiny fingers dropping it into your cupped hand.

Every night, tall shadows would come and kiss him goodnight. In due time, he would call them Mama and Dada.

**3.**

Tony was a chatty three-year-old.

Nan - a new one, because his mother had decided she didn't trust the one from before - had to keep him in her sight at all times, or else he would wander off at the park, tiny sneakers thumping against the pavement as he chatted up old society ladies and got himself dirty. Each time, New Nan would rush up, apologize for his behavior, and receive assurances that it was quite all right, that her son was very charming, and that it was a pleasure to talk to the bright young boy. Tony would puff up and insist that he was a very _big_ boy, and the old bitties in their gloves and pearls would agree, nodding their wide-eyed agreement. And every night, his mother would chide him.

"You mustn't talk to strangers, Tony," she would say, tying the ribbon on his 14th-century French style boy's sleeping gown.

Tony tugged at the lace collar, trying not to scratch until his mother looked away. "Why?"

"Because," she said, batting his hand away and readjusting the neckline. "It's not polite."

"Why?" His large eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, stared up at her quizzically. Mama had so many _rules_.

"Because good little boys don't just talk to strangers. It's simply not done." She ruffled his hair affectionately. "Now, promise me you won't talk to strangers in the park again."

He looked back at her solemnly. "I promise," he said.

"Cross your heart?" She mimed drawing an X on her left side.

He mimed her action. "Cross my heart."

"That's my boy," she said, kissing him on the forehead. "Now, get yourself to sleep." She pulled back the blankets of his four-poster bed. "Come on."

He crawled into the bed, and his mother tucked him him. When she moved to turn off the light, he shuddered and called out plaintively, "Mama?"

She paused in the doorway. "Yes, love?"

"Stay wi' me?"

She smiled slightly, an upward quirk of the edge of her mouth. "Just until you fall asleep. You're going to have to do this on your own, you know."

He nodded, tiny fingers clutching the edge of the blankets. "Stay?"

"Of course," she said, and flipped off the light. He felt the edge of his bed sag under her weight, saw the familiar outline of her in the light from his doorway, and he sighed contentedly.

**5.**

His hands could barely wrap around the mug of cider. "Mama, what is this?"

She smiled around a mouthful of caramel popcorn and chewed quickly. "It's apple cider, your grandmother's secret recipe." She winked at him. "I stole it from her before Daddy and I got married."

"You stole it?!"

"More like borrowed without permission." She tapped him on the nose. "Keep it a secret for Mommy?"

He nodded, grinning. The cider sloshed in the mug, a few drops splashing onto his hand. "What are we watching?"

"One of my favorite movies," she replied, licking her fingers.

"All the movies are Mommy's favorites."

"Yes, well, this one is really special to me. It's called _It's a Wonderful Life_ and it's about Christmas and angels and family." She blew out a long breath and glanced at him. "Is that cider too hot?"

"No," Tony replied quickly.

"Tony?"

"A little," he admitted, and handed it to her. "Can you cool it down for me?"

She laughed. "Yes, dear, of course. Here, hold the popcorn bowl. You got it?"

He nodded, arms just barely able to wrap around the wide bowl. "I got it."

"Good. Now, let's hit play." She turned off the lights and started the film. From the moment the music swelled, Tony's eyes were as large as saucers.

**8.**

Later, when the skies had cleared and the gravestone had been erected, Tony would only remember that his black suit had itched and that his tie had been too tight.

**13.**

The study had always scared him.

Everything about it was oppressive, right from the too-tall door. Tony straightened his blazer, flexed his hands, and walked in resolutely. He stopped, standing before the desk where chairs would normally be. (There were no chairs. His father liked the feeling of being powerful, even if it was just in his own home.)

His father observed him behind steepled fingers. Seated at the large, dark wood desk that dominated the study, he was the very image of a most formidable man.

Tony resolutely kept his eyes on the front edge of the desk, his hands hanging at his sides. He didn't so much as fidget under the scrutiny of his father's gaze.

"Expelled. Again." Anthony R. DiNozzo, Senior, said at last, eyes flicking down to the cream-colored stationary with the school letterhead on the desk surface.

Tony schooled his features into an impassive mask.

His father was having none of it. "Your fourth school in almost six years." He picked up the letter and shook it. "Fighting! They found you beating another's boy's face in. Father Luboff thought you were wearing brass knuckles, the other boy was so bruised." He blew out a long breath. "This is the second time you've gotten expelled for fighting." He shook his head. "At least this time it wasn't also theft. Or getting caught with a girl from the sister school." He set the letter down and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't understand where we -- where _I_ went wrong with you."

Tony's hands tightened into fists at his sides, but he said nothing and continued to not meet his father's gaze.

His father sighed. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" He took a long drink from a nearby glass, the ice rattling. Tony could smell the scotch from where he stood.

Silence.

This seemed to anger his father. "Fine. You've given me no choice, Junior. I'm sending you to military school."

 _That_ caught Tony's attention. "Sir, I--"

"Save it. After all of your acting out, you've made what must be done perfectly clear." He knocked back the rest of the drink. "I've made my decision. In two weeks you start at the Rhode Island Naval Preparatory Academy for Young Men. Is that understood?"

Tony shut his mouth with an audible _click_. "Yes, sir," he ground out, teeth clenched and fingernails cutting half-moons into his palms.

His father leaned back in his chair, contemplating the ice in his glass as it swirled 'round and 'round. "Good. You may leave." He waved a hand dismissively and reached for the bottle of amber liquid on the shelf behind him.

Tony pivoted on a heel and stalked off. The few servants in the house that he encountered gave him a wide berth as he strode past, fists stuffed into his pocked and jaw clenched tight enough to make the muscles in his neck stand out like rope against his skin. Somehow, he found himself outside, on the grounds. He slowed his gait and let his mind wander while his feet took him where they would.

Military school. _Military school_. Tony laughed. Repeating it dramatically had not made it more appealing. He ran a hand through his hair and scowled. They'd probably make him cut it short like it was in the movies.

He wandered and wandered until he found himself at the base of a tall, leafy tree at the heart of the gardens. It was a big willow tree, one of the oldest trees on the estate. Pushing aside the branches, he sat at the base of the tree between the roots, pulling his knees to his chest.

"Damn it," he muttered.

He hid out in the garden until it was time for dinner. Then, he stood, brushed himself off, and walked back inside, hands in pockets and back straight.

**21.**

It was literally the last conversation that Tony had ever hoped to have with his father. Even discussing his mother would have been a better topic than this one.

"Junior, I want you to take an internship with my company. It's time you learned the family business."

Tony bit his tongue and worked to keep his expression impassive. His father sat behind the desk that dominated the room, but Tony had grown in the five years since he had last been in this room, and somehow the desk that had dominated the room seemed less suffocating. Tony chalked it up to getting older, though he supposed the extra four inches he'd gained in the last few years helped.

His father continued, ignoring his son's expression entirely. "You're going to graduate soon, and while I wish you'd gone to an Ivy League school like I'd asked you to..." His father's expression soured for a moment, and Tony resisted the urge to laugh. "Anyway, son, I think it's time you took up the DiNozzo family mantle." He looked at Tony expectantly.

Tony's expression remained carefully neutral. "Sir, I... _appreciate_ your concern, but I already have plans for my future, and none of them involve becoming involved in business."

His father gaped at him, stunned. (Tony savored the moment.) "You're refusing to join the family business?"

"Yes, sir."

"How dare you, after all the comfort it's brought you, after how much you've benefitted from it!"

Tony's neutral expression finally cracked, and he rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, rum-running isn't particularly profitable these days." He levelled a glare at his father. "And comfort? I've been a guest in this house ever since I was eight years old. So, no, I don't believe I owe the family business much of anything."

His father stood. Distantly, Tony noted the gray was overtaking the black of his hair. "Get out," he spat. "You are no longer welcome here."

Tony stuffed his hands into his pockets and huffed a laugh. "It was great seeing you, too, Dad." He turned on a heel and walked out of the house, only glancing back once to see the entirety of the estate from the gates, before getting into his beat ride and driving off.

**34.**

"Looks like it's just you and me, Boss."

Gibbs glanced over at him from his desk. "Looks like," he replied neutrally, continuing to fill out the paperwork for the last case. Tony internally winced; crossing jurisdictions involved a second, larger stack of filing than a regular case, and JAG was notoriously bureaucratic. (At least, it was at NCIS.)

Tony kept on talking. "With Viv off to get married, well. Not that I don't enjoy all of our one-on-one time together, boss. These past few weeks have been really special to me--"

"DiNozzo." Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Right." He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "We need a new team member."

"I know. Any ideas?" Gibbs set down the pen he was using to fill out the form.

"Kensington's back from an undercover detail."

"I've already got an undercover man."

"But, Boss, wouldn't another be--"

"It should be a woman," Gibbs interrupted.

"Okay. Round out the team, make female witnesses more forthcoming. I see what you're saying." He paused. "We could poach O'Shaughnessy from Randolph's team."

Gibbs shrugged and stood, grabbing his coffee cup. "Let's wait and see, DiNozzo. It's how I found you, after all."

Tony beamed as Gibbs walked off.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. For Lauren, because she is a _terrible, horrible, relentless bunny rancher_! I love you to pieces babe, but _with great power comes great responsibility_ , hahaha.
> 
> 2\. Tony's exact words about the DiNozzo family Christmas are these: "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight you're all going to share in a DiNozzo family tradition. Caramel popcorn, hot malt cider, and the greatest, greatest Christmas movie of all time: It's a Wonderful Life!" I'd just like to point out that he turned MTAC into a movie theater. Just sayin'. Anyway, although it's a _DiNozzo_ family tradition, I, ah, bent the canon just a little bit.
> 
> 3\. The number sequences correspond to ages and are the [Fibonacci series](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fibonacci_number) up to the 10th value.
> 
> 4\. According to Tony's [original character profile](http://web.archive.org/web/20080218015930/http://www.cbs.com/primetime/ncis/characters/michael_weatherly_char.shtml) on the old CBS/NCIS website, Tony's high school was Rhode Island Military Academy. Given that _this doesn't actually exist_ as a high school, I figured liberties were in order.


End file.
